


Love Me and Mend

by 221b_hound



Series: Star-crossed [4]
Category: Richard III - Shakespeare, Sherlock (TV), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reincarnation, Shakespearean style language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:10:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2423198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221b_hound/pseuds/221b_hound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Khan awakes in the glade, unable to move. Richard is with him. In their waking lives, Sherlock has fallen due to Moran's machinations, and now he's in hospital - possibly dying. In their dream limbo, Richard promises him. They will not be parted. No matter what happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Me and Mend

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from a line in Much Ado About Nothing.
> 
> In the midst of writing a multi chapter fic about John's war history for Guitar Man, this idea popped up and wouldn't go away. So have a little Homicidal Reincarnated Dream Boyfriends getting all H/C, but never fear. All will be well.
> 
> And if you haven't seen it yet, [ Check out the awesome cover art for this series. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2398139)

Khan awoke only slowly, and at first without comprehension.

His whole body, clad in black apparel, ached.

The ground at his back was soft, fragrant. The light on his eyelids was dappled and refreshing rather than harsh. To one side of him, the merry babble of water flowed and sang.

Oh. The glade. Their glade. Where it was now forever fresh and cool, both sanctuary and marriage bed. Carnal and holy, to their mutual delight.

Except that he ached so.

Khan tried to move, and could not, and his eyes flew wide in, no, not panic, for he was not one to panic. But alarm. This place was not…

“Hush, beloved. All will be well.”

But soft, his Richard’s voice, steady yet. He would trust that voice in this, as in all things. If only he could see Richard’s gold-flecked blue eyes. He would believe any promise made in them.

“Richard?”

“Hush.”

And there he was, his prince, sitting beside him on the fragrant grass. Richard’s blue eyes were tired and filled with concern, but the promise in them was… ambiguous.

“What has happened?”

“You fell,” said Richard, and his tone was strained and his eyes were full of pain, “In our waking life. A black-hearted villain, most perfidious by nature and bent upon revenge, did threaten thee with harm to mine own self and to others close to thy heart, unless you chose this path and spake no word of it.”

“Am I then…dead?”

“No.” Richard smiled faintly and brushed dark hair from his love’s brow. “Thou art thrice ten times as luminous of mind as the hell-damned Moran and trust me to walk side by side with you to hell. Thy plan was cunning and Moran is prisoner in a dungeon deep yet too merciful for such a blackguard.”

“But…?” Of course there was a ‘but’, else why was he here, unmoving, with his prince so distressed at his side.

“The execution of thy will was flawed. You fell to earth from high, risking all, but thy landing was not so soft as hoped. The mattress on which you were to fall was ill-aligned, for Moran did push before you could take your measured step.” Richard took a breath and rubbed his fingers gently against Khan’s forehead. “Thou art hurt, love. Not unto death, but, alas, badly enough. In our waking world, my beloved Sherlock sleeps as though cursed, though his heart beats still.”

Khan blinked. “I do not remember.”

“No. It matters not. I will wait with thee.”

“How come you here?”

“My waking self, your John, keeps a vigil at your bedside and will not be moved. The physicians have tried, but I have rebuked them with word and look. I would do so with blade and bullet if I must.”

“That would defeat the purpose.”

“I will not be parted from thee. Awake or asleep. Thus, I as John sleep beside your bed, and hold thy hand in mine, and will not be moved till thou look upon me again with thy perfect winter eyes.”

“And if I do not wake again?”

“Then stay I here at your side. I as John shall will myself to deathly sleep, if you should not wake to be with me. I say again. I will not be parted from thee.” His tone was fierce, but his blue eyes were bright with sorrow and resolve.

“Richard, you must not…”

“Must I fight thee too? I shall, you know. My love will duel with my love, if it means I stay by my love’s side.”

Khan blinked at him. “I will not fight you. I do not want you to leave me. If I do not wake, then fine. We sleep together until our next life. One way or the other, I will find you again, and you, me. We have fought too hard to meet again to lose each other now.”

“Aye,” agreed Richard. His fingers caressed Khan’s brow and cheek.

“Rest with me,” said Khan. He tried to move his hands, and thought he sensed his fingers flex a very little, the tips of grass blades soft-scratching at his skin.

Richard moved carefully, lifting Khan’s body as best he could with one strong arm, and sat behind his love. Legs spread to either side of Khan’s hips, Richard arranged Khan’s back against his chest, and then rested his cheek on Khan’s hair.

“I would like,” said Khan, “To feel your arms around me.” He thought he could feel his toes stretch, restless, and his bare heels pushing against clover. Some benign insect tickled the arch, he fancied.

Richard reached across Khan to gather up his own withered arm, that would not move without assistance. He draped the limb across Khan’s chest and pressed the tips of those unresponding fingers into the skin below his Khan’s left ear. Against the pulse, which he could feel but faintly, although that was as much the fault of his withered limb as the whisper of death in his love’s veins.

Richard bent to kiss his lionheart’s temple, and then his cheek, and wrapped his good arm around his beloved, too, holding tight where his other arm could not.

“Tis traditional,” said Khan with a wry smile, “To sing at a sickbed, to entertain the invalid.”

“It is not a tradition _I_ know,” said Richard, pretending earnest, “And I would not wish thee further injury.”

“I like your voice.”

“Tis ill made for music. I swear, it once made my horse shy as from a hissing serpent.”

“I don’t believe you.” And yes, Khan was sure, his thumb moved against the earth. His hands throbbed and his legs ached and his head was very sore.

“I would never lie to thee.,” said Richard, and Khan knew Richard’s eyes were alight with teasing merriment even though his heart was heavy, “A starling heard me sing once, and straight did die of shame on my behalf.”

“Ill-mannered starling.”

“Yet she had a musical ear.”

“My ear likes your voice.”

“You have not heard me sing.”

“You speak and it is music, my prince.”

“Flatterer.”

“You know I never flatter. I speak only truth to you.”

“And so I must believe you mad.”

“A happy madness, for I love you with all my heart and all my soul.”

Richard kissed his brow again. “And I, you. And we will not be parted.”

“We will not.”

Richard buried his nose in Khan’s hair and breathed deeply. “Come back to me, love. All will be well, if you will only wake.”

“I will wake,” Khan said, “And although my new body is not as hardy as the one that first loved you, still, it is strong. My skull is whole, for all that hard blow it received upon my landing. My spine is unbroken, although my left leg fares not so well. But the nerves are well, or I would not ache so. My fingers and toes move, and my heart beats alongside yours. Do not fear, Richard. All is well, beloved. All is well.”

“Please, let it be so,” said Richard softly, holding Khan as tight as me may with one arm, the withered fingers of the other twitching faintly against Khan’s neck. “Please my love. Wake and be with me.”

“All,” murmured Khan, his eyes slipping shut, “Will be well.”

*

Sherlock’s eyes opened and his right hand shifted automatically, seeking John, who was seated beside the hospital bed, arms folded on the mattress, supporting his head as he slept.

The moment Sherlock’s fingers brushed against his cheek, John awoke. His eyes were wide and fearful for just a moment, but as they encountered Sherlock’s winter pale eyes, he smiled, beamed.

“Sherlock. You’re awake.”

“All,” murmured Sherlock, “Will be well.”

“Of course it will, now.” said John, his voice choked with emotion as he reached over to caress Sherlock’s cheek. With his other hand, he rang for the nurse.

“Sing to me,” said Sherlock.

“Anything,” said John, “Anything you want. Only stay with me.”

“Always,” said Sherlock. “Sing to me.”

John blinked, and swallowed, and sang _Love Me Do_. It was the only song he could remember, and it had the benefit of having very few words. He thought Sherlock would hate it, but Sherlock smiled as though it was the most blessed thing he’d ever heard.

Sherlock sighed and smiled and listened, and decided, for a reason that he couldn’t fathom, that he didn’t much like starlings, and that the sound of John’s voice was a call home he would never ignore.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Love Me Do is by the Beatles.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Love Me and Mend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401116) by [aranel_parmadil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aranel_parmadil/pseuds/aranel_parmadil)




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